Torture and Tiaras
by Jambammer
Summary: Sam and Dean go undercover at a children's beauty pageant to figure out what's killing the parents. Sam didn't count on Dean becoming a 'pageant mom' when he initially came up with the plan.
1. It's 2012

A/N: This is what happens when I don't sleep at night. This isn't a sequel to any of my stories, just a bizarre idea that popped into my head. Dean has kids because I figured he needed _some_ happiness in his life. I know the girl's middle name may cause some confusion, but Jo's not her mother - it was a tribute to her and Ellen. I don't actually have a character for their mother, so she's not around. You'll understand it more as you go, I swear. Not going to ruin anything by explaining it here. For now, light hearted story. Enjoy!

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><p>Dean had never felt more like a fish out of water.<p>

Sam hadn't either, and he'd spent the majority of his life feeling out of place. This wasn't just out of place; this was awkward and uncomfortable in extreme levels.

Dean looked around; at least some of the women were pretty hot. He could ignore the obscene amount of bratty children running around and screeching.

"The registration desk's over there," Sam pointed to a busy area on the other side of the room.

Dean nodded and swallowed. "Great. I'll wait here."

The younger gave his brother a sharp look. "She's _your_ daughter, Dean!"

"And this was _your_ stupid idea!" He hissed back. "What was wrong with coming as feds, huh?"

"This doesn't raise as much suspicion!"

"Still your idea."

Sam huffed and took his niece's hand, leading her over to the desk. He made sure his best smile was in place before they got there. "Hi," he said as sweetly as possible to the woman looking up at him expectantly. "Uhm, we called earlier and were told we could still register?"

The cheery looking woman slid a paper across the desk to him. She was pretty; her smile was inviting, and there was something about her eyes that caught his attention. "Just fill this out for me, please. You're her father?"

"No, no, I'm just her Uncle," Sam corrected.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled sympathetically at him. "Honey, we don't discriminate here. We let children from any family compete."

"I just…"

"Yeah, come on hun, it's 2012," Dean grinned, clapping his brother on the shoulder. Sam fought the urge to kick him. The only thing stopping him was his three year old niece standing quietly in the way, and that Dean was holding the other twin.

The woman beamed. "Just fill that out and I'll be right back."

Dean looked over his brother's shoulder to read the scrawl. "Shiloh Harvelle _Jovi?"_ He whispered, his tone conveying how thoroughly unimpressed he was.

"Well I can't use Winchester. It was the only thing I could think of, so sue me," Sam shot back defensively, lowering his voice to avoid being heard, and to keep from waking Milo. "Besides, it sounds sort of… cute."

"Change it."

He probably would have, had Dean not embarrassed him in front of the woman. Now, it was about revenge. "No."

"Sam, don't make me make you."

"Don't cause a scene," the younger warned, catching sight of the parents turning to look at them. "Besides, I wrote it in pen."

"So? Cross it out!"

"If I cross it out, I'm putting down 'Kroeger," Sam warned. As he'd predicted, this made his brother back off after a bit of a snarl. He smiled to himself a little, reveling in the small victory. He suspected Dean might have fought more if he didn't have little Milo fast asleep against his shoulder. The kid could sleep through _anything._

By the time he got through all the paperwork, Sam was beginning to wish they _had _come as feds.

Dean paced the floor anxiously as he waited for Sam to finish. Something about this place made him feel nauseous, and it wasn't just the freak accidents that had been killing some of the pageant parents. No, it was the heavy smell of hairspray, the outfits made of pure sequins, the little girls leading their parents around as though _they_ were in charge – he swore, if Shiloh ever talked to _him_ like_ that… - _it was enough to make anyone in their right mind sick.

"You're smart to sleep through this, Miles," he murmured to his son whose drool was beginning to soak through Dean's shirt. "Little kids shouldn't look so… fake!"

He was relatively certain he'd never been happier to leave somewhere.


	2. Idjits

A/N: Just to restate - Dean has kids because I want him to be happy. No idea who their mother is, and she's not around. Also, I have no idea whether or not it's a real pageant. I hate children's pageants.

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><p>"My guess is we're dealing with a spirit," Sam passed a newspaper clipping to his brother and made sure to keep his voice down. "It's only parents who have been killed, and in what appear to be accidents."<p>

Dean's eyes scanned the article. "Impaled on the crowns? Yikes." He looked up at his brother. "Pissed off kid?"

"That's what I'm thinking, yeah," he leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. "Problem is, it's not happening at one location. It's always at a 'Sugar and Spice' pageant."

The elder mused over this and nodded. "An object then. I doubt a pageant's hauling around the body of a kid killed during it."

Before Sam could answer, his cell went off and shattered the quiet. "Hey, Bobby."

"Where are you two?" The gruff voice demanded loud enough that the other could hear it. Dean smirked and brought the bottle in his hand to his lips.

He'd been expecting this. "We're, uh, working the case."

"Great, so where are the brats?" Sam didn't answer; there was no point. He glanced over at the couch where his niece and nephew sat contentedly watching cartoons. "Tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"You morons!" With a wince, he pulled the phone away from his ear.

Dean took the opportunity to grab the phone away. "Relax Bobby, they're fine." He held the phone up to the air. "Shiles, Miles, tell Uncle Bobby that you're fine."

"We fine!" Milo bellowed back, while his sister added a "fine," in a softer voice.

Dean grinned and put the phone back to his ear. "See? Nothin' to worry about."

"Didn't you two knuckleheads learn _anything_ growing up? You don't take _kids_ out on hunting trips!"

"Bobby, they're _fine._ We're not gonna let anything happen to them. _I'm_ not gonna let anything happen to them," he added gravely. "Besides, this thing's been attacking parents. If anything, you should be worried about _our_ asses."

"You better not be using either of them as bait or so help me…"

"Bobby, I would put Sam in a frilly little dress and use _him_ as bait before I used them," Dean assured the man on the other line while shrugging at his brother. "Sorry Sammy, they're my kids."

"This ain't over," Bobby promised. "Just be careful."

"We will be."

"Idgits."

Dean smiled and hung up the phone.

"Frilly dress?" Sam asked, reaching to take his cell back.

"Extra pink, just for you," his brother replied, tipping the bottle back to his mouth.

"We have another problem besides the ghost, you know," Sam stated, nodding towards the couch. "How're you going to get Shiloh up on stage? She's the shyest kid I've ever met."

The father looked over to his daughter who was sucking her thumb and curled up against her brother, half asleep. "I'll think of something."

"Maybe we should have entered Milo in something instead," Sam muttered, flipping through the information they'd been given. The dark haired boy was significantly more outgoing. He probably would have enjoyed the spotlight.

"There's no way we're putting my boy in a dress," Dean answered sharply.

"I didn't mean like …. Oh, so you'd put _me_ in a dress, but not him?"

"Well, yeah," Dean nodded. "It'd be hilarious if it was you."

"Right, so plan for tomorrow – I'll get her ready and then you can take them to the competition, and I'll snoop around backstage."

"Sounds good," Dean agreed, getting up from his chair. "Okay you little monsters, bedtime!"

"Nooo!"

Sam grinned and opened his laptop as he listened to the protests. Once upon a time it had been he and Dean fighting to stay up later, whenever their father was there. When it was Dean in charge of bedtime, Sam occasionally got his way. The twins didn't appear to be so lucky.

Time for research.

He never thought he'd see the day where part of his research would include makeup tutorials on youtube.


	3. Accidents

"Sam! Sammy!" Sam jerked awake to the hurried shaking of his shoulder. His brother was whispering, but the panic was still evident in his voice. "Come on man, wake up!"

"What? What's wrong?" The younger groaned, trying to pull himself to a state of better alertness. According to the alarm clock on the table beside him, he'd only been asleep for a couple of hours. The time flashed as 8:00AM, and he didn't remember even shutting his computer down until at least 4:00AM. Had there really been a time where he'd been able to operate on this much sleep or less?

Once he'd managed to sit up, a cup of coffee was thrust into his hands. "I've been doing some research."

Words he never thought he'd hear his brother say. "I have been too, but I've had no luck. If it is a spirit, I don't think the death made the papers. Please tell me you have something."

Dean's green eyes stared back at him blankly for a moment before they rushed back to panic. "That's not important right now."

"Not… not important?" Sam choked out, barely remembering to keep his voice down. It was only the snoring of one of the twins on the bed beside him that reminded his foggy mind.

Usually when they took the twins out - which was rare, Dean always kept them at their home in Lawrence and normally had someone watch the pair if he had a hunting job, or he'd take them to Bobby's - Dean would tuck them both into one of the beds, and he would crash on the couch in the motel room. Since their mother's passing, Sam would sometimes wake up to find one or both cuddled against their father. Once, he'd even woken up to Milo being asleep with him. It had been cute until he realized that his nephew was cutting off circulation to his arm.

Judging by the fact that Dean hadn't changed clothing, and how bloodshot his eyes were, he hadn't slept at all.

"She doesn't have a routine! I've been watching videos of these things, and the kids always have some kind of routine!"

Sam blinked and glared at his older brother. "So we'll come up with something."

"Dude, it starts in like eight hours. How are we gonna come up with something?"

"It'll suck, but Shiloh's cute, and you do remember that we're not actually here for her to compete, right?" He set his coffee down on the night table and ruffled his hair. It was too early for this. "We're here to stop the spirit, or whatever it is."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but Shiles is still competing. We can't send her out there unprepared. Do you know what some of these girls are like?"

"Yeah Dean, I've unfortunately seen the show."

"These little girls are brutal!"

Sam rubbed his temples. "Look. Teach her something when you wake her up at ten if it bothers you so much. Just… just don't forget we actually have a job to do, and we have until nine tomorrow nine to finish it."

"You teach her!"

"What? Why me? You're the one freaking out!"

"Because this was your stupid idea!"

He had a feeling that he wasn't going to hear the end of it. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Be a pageant family, talk to other pageant families, figure out what was going on. A glitter drenched dress, registration fee and endless hours spent trying to figure out how the hell makeup and hair worked... it wasn't quite as simple as he'd thought it would be.

"All right. We'll come up with something together," Sam decided it'd be better to compromise. "Until she's awake, let's focus on the case."

Dean relented and sat down on the bed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand; his other clutched his own coffee. "Right, what did you manage to find?"

"Mostly just confirmed what we already knew. Death is always a parent, and it's some kind of bizarre accident."

"Like falling into the crowns or trophies."

"Right. Some have been even weirder," Sam explained. "Hairspray can explodes, curling iron catches fire, slips on a lipstick and falls into a mirror… One mother was even strangled by a hairpiece."

The elder's brow bunched in confusion. "How the hell could that be accidental?"

The younger shrugged. "But it was."

Dean absorbed the information with a nod. "You're the one handling hair and makeup, right?"


	4. He Loves That Sort Of Thing

The audience of families had begun filing in to find seats, and Dean studied them, looking for anything out of the ordinary. But what counted as unusual? Some families were the definition of relaxed, while others were the polar opposite. This world was so foreign to him, he'd never thought that he'd actually end up at one of these events.

Hell, he'd never thought that he'd _actually_ end up with a kid, let alone_ two_. It wasn't as though the twins had been planned, and he hadn't even known about them until a few days before their birth, but regardless, here they all were. At a children's beauty pageant, with one of his two kids sitting beside him.

"Where's Shiloh?" Milo looked up at his father with a bit of worry on his young face.

"Backstage with Uncle Sammy," Dean assured the boy, pointing to the stage at the front of the room. "He's making her pretty."

"Why?"

Good question. "It's a contest. She has to be the prettiest."

"But she is."

Dean grinned and pulled the boy into his lap. "I know that, but the judges over there," he pointed to the table nearby, "have to think so too."

"Why?"

"Because they pick the winner."

"But they're not pretty!"

Dean looked over at the three people at the table and well, he couldn't argue with that. "It's just how this works."

"It's stupid."

The blonde who took the seat next to him, however, was pretty. "Parent or support?" She asked brightly.

"Uh, parent."

"First pageant?"

He laughed. "That obvious?"

The blonde laughed as well. "I've been coming to these things with my sister and her girls for a while. You get to know The Look, as we call it."

"The look?"

"The '_Oh-God-What-Have-I-Gotten-Myself-Into'_ look. You have it. I'm Judy, by the way."

"And here I thought I had a great poker face," he replied. "I'm Dean, and this is Milo."

"Shiloh's gon' win cause she's the prettiest!" Milo declared loudly. "We twins!"

Dean ruffled the boy's dark hair. "That's right bud." He looked back to the grinning blonde woman. "Not that your nieces aren't lovely, I'm sure they are, but my kid's got some great genes."

"I'm sure she does, and probably all from her mother. Is she backstage with your daughter?"

"Uh, no. My brother's backstage with her." He didn't really want this conversation. It led to pity, and pity almost always killed flirty moods.

"Mommy's in heaven."_ Thank you, Milo Winchester._

Judy instantly turned a shade of pink. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

There it was. The pity. Dean waved his hand. "It… it's alright. It was a while ago now." A year and a half, give or take a week or two, to be more exact. His kids had to grow up without a mother, just as he had. But it wasn't something that he wanted to think about now. He cleared his throat and forced a smile. "So, you've been coming to these for a while? Ever been to this particular pageant before?"

Judy nodded. "Yeah, actually. I was here when that woman was murdered."

_Bingo._ He pretended to be oblivious. After all, many of the accidents hadn't gotten high profile attention, and they weren't the easiest to find out about unless you were looking for them. "Murdered? Someone was murdered?

She shook her head. "Not if you ask the police, but she had a straightener burn through her neck. But they'll tell you it was an accident."

"How the hell could that be an accident?"

"My thoughts exactly." She looked to see if anyone was listening, and leaned in closer. "Now, some people think it may have been a suicide, but I don't think so. There's been a string of strange accidents around these pageants, if you believe all the rumors."

"Really."

"Yeah, but most people won't talk about it. I don't think they're accidents at all. How can they all be?" She straightened up and cleared her throat, noticing that a few people had turned to look at them. "So, your brother's the one on hair and makeup?"

Dean nodded. "Oh yeah, Sam loves that kind of thing."


	5. Let's Play

There were so many things that Sam was good at. Technology, for one. Despite what Dean liked to claim, Sam could still hack systems quicker than his brother, and he still knew a fair bit more about computers. Hunting, he was good at hunting. Driving; he was definitely a safer driver than Dean, though he had to admit that Dean was probably the better driver when it came to driving for their lives and getting them out of bad situations.

This… this he definitely was not good at. It shouldn't have been that hard, it wasn't as though he hadn't seen makeup being done before. He'd watched Jess fuss over herself enough, and those countless videos on the internet… Though for a first attempt, he supposed things had gone much better than they could have.

His poor niece sat quietly and let him do his best, only really moving when he tried to do her eyes. So maybe her eyeliner was crooked, that wasn't entirely his fault. Her hair was into somewhat neat blonde curls; at least that much he had gotten mostly right. It wasn't perfect, but it was passable, or so he hoped. It was probably best to quit while she still looked decent rather than risk overdoing it.

Shiloh looked up at him through her darkened lashes. She looked overwhelmed by the whole experience, and he couldn't blame her. Of all the hunts he'd been on in his life, this was up there as one of the most overwhelming for him as well. And it hadn't even truly started yet! "Am I pretty now?"

"Sweetheart, you're always pretty," Sam replied, scooping her up off the counter that she had been sitting on. "Come on, let's go wait by the stage."

"I have worked _far_ too long and too hard for this, so don't you dare make any mistakes out there, do you understand?" Sam turned in the direction of the voice to see a blonde woman and two upset little girls. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first incident of a mother yelling at her daughters that he'd seen since they'd been there, but it still bothered him. "You two have to be perfect!"

Shiloh observed the scene as well, and looked at her uncle with wide and anxious green eyes. "Do I ha'ta be pefect?"

Between Shiloh's comment and the sudden screech of the EMF detector in Sam's pocket, the woman whirled around. "You got a problem, buddy?"

"What? Uh… no," he didn't want to start anything, not while he was holding his ever watching niece, but he hated to see kids getting yelled at. "But they're just kids, maybe lay off a bit?"

So much for that. "You telling me how to parent?"

"No, no, I just think…"

"You don't see me telling you how to deal with your snot nosed brat, so take a hike."

He felt Shiloh lie against his shoulder and hide her eyes. The situation was upsetting her, so Sam rubbed her back consolingly. For her sake, he backed down. "Alright. Fine." He gave the girls a sympathetic look, and continued back for the stage. Taking the detector from his pocket, he watched as the light activity suddenly stopped. Definitely a spirit, and it had been something around the woman or her daughters. A banner maybe? If blood had gotten on to it, it could be enough to hold a spirit there.

Shiloh pushed herself back up, tugged on his collar and pulled him from his thoughts. "Do I have stuff on my nose?" She asked worriedly.

Sam chuckled. "No, you're good."

The woman waited until the two were out of sight before she looked down at her two daughters and crossed her arms. "Go wait with your Aunt in the audience until your age groups are called. And _don't_ mess up your hair!"

The girls nodded and filed out obediently, leaving her alone in the empty area.

"I know you're there," she spoke to the silence, placing her hands on her hips and surveying the still room. "And I do hope that you have a better plan than last time. You bored me last time."

Behind her, the curling iron that Sam had been using switched on.

She heard the click, but couldn't see where it had come from. Still, she smiled. "Come on, darling, let's play."


	6. Ghost Hunting

Dean slouched back in his seat, and watched the stage with an unimpressed scowl. From the seat beside him at the end of the row, Milo mirrored his father's posture and expression. Sam had to chuckle to himself at the sight. Like father, like son. The only thing Milo seemed to have in common with his mother was his dark hair.

Reaching them, he lifted the boy up to steal his chair and placed him on his lap.

"Uncle Sam!"

Dean leaned over and looked none too pleased with the appearance of his brother. "What're you doing here?!" He whispered fiercely. "You're supposed to be with Shiloh!"

"Relax, Shiloh's with one of the overseers," Sam assured his brother. "I told them I had to make an important call."

This didn't ease the elder Winchester any. "What's more important than your niece, huh?"

"Dean, relax, she's fine," the younger Winchester promised, "but there is definitely something weird going on around here."

"Yeah, I'll say!" Dean agreed, but their conversation was cut short by another voice booming over the microphone.

"And next we have number 21, Shiloh!"

Dean's attention was immediately sucked towards the stage. He broke out in a wide grin as his tiny daughter walked carefully across the stage, looking a bit apprehensive and unsure of herself. Her eyes were turned down, looking for where she was supposed to stand

"Smile, baby girl, smile," he murmured to himself, watching her closely and trying to will her to smile. "Sammy, can she see us?" He asked anxiously.

Given that she was staring at the wood of the stage, it was unlikely. "I don't know, Dean."

Upon reaching the first marker, Shiloh paused. Her father's eyes never left her as he mumbled encouragement and instructions for her under his breath, willing her on. Managing a small, shy smile, she waved at the crowd. Dean clapped and cheered loudly which made his brother cringe, but it gave his daughter the boost she needed. Catching sight of her father, she smiled wider and waved to him.

Placing her hand on her hip, she walked to the next marker as the announcer continued. "Shiloh's favourite foods are cereal and french fries! Shiloh enjoys listening to loud music, going for drives in her dad's car-"

"Sounds more like what Shiloh's _father_ enjoys," Sam muttered, giving his brother a look and shaking his head.

"—and ghost hunting with her Dad, her brother Milo, and her Uncle Sam!"

Sam's heart stopped. "_Ghost hunting_?" He hissed.

"Relax, it's just kids stuff," Dean replied with a shrug. "I needed something to make her different from the other girls. Now she's adorable _and_ imaginative. By the way, I had some changes made to the forms you filled out yesterday."

No kidding. Apparently he'd found time to teach his daughter some form of routine as well.

On the stage, Shiloh reached for her toes before standing back up quickly. The audience clapped, and Dean stood up and whistled loudly. Shiloh beamed and darted off stage.

"You taught her the _bend and snap?"_ Sam asked, glaring at his brother.

Dean just beamed with excitement and pride. "That's my girl! She was great, wasn't she?"

"I… I'm speechless," Sam replied, still trying to process all that he'd seen. "When did you teach her that?"

The elder shrugged. "This morning. She was up early."

Early. Perfect. Thinking back, it had been odd that she'd been awake before he had. Which meant that Shiloh probably hadn't gotten up on her own, she and her brother were fond of sleep. What had Dean been thinking? "Great. She's going to be miserable later."

Dean nodded and half shrugged again. "We can just sugar her up for later events."

Sam couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Had Dean, over protective and watchful father Dean, Dean who'd actually started caring about what _he_ ate to set in order to set an example for his kids, actually just said that? "What?"

"Failing that, coffee."

Coffee? "She's _three!_"

"This is a _competition_, Sam! She has to have high energy!"

A scream from backstage interrupted the argument. The two exchanged a look, and Dean nodded. Sam scooped up his nephew and pushed his worries about his brother to the back of his mind as the family headed towards the scene.


	7. Priorities

The Winchester family watched from nearby as the body was taken out by the paramedics.

"What happened?" Milo asked, looking at his uncle.

"A bad accident," Sam replied grimly.

"Bad?" Shiloh echoed.

Dean held her a bit tighter and nodded. "Very bad." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled at her. "Don't worry, it's okay. It's good too. You were perfect today, princess."

Shiloh smiled and snuggled against his shoulder while Sam glared at him. "_Good_?"

"Well, yeah!" The younger didn't look impressed. "Sam, the pageant's being postponed until tomorrow. We have more time to work on a talent routine!"

He was beginning to suspect that his brother was losing sight of the bigger picture. "Dean, I think we have bigger things to worry about, don't you? Earlier, EMF—"

"Not important."

Sam blinked. "Not _important? _Excuse me?_"_

"Dude, Shiloh actually has a shot at this thing. She could win!"

"I don't believe this."

Now, Dean was the one taken aback. "What?"

"There's a job here. That's priority."

The elder shook his head. "My _daughter_ takes priority! You know what? Screw this. We're going back to the motel."

Sam watched in bewilderment as his brother carried his daughter out the door. Shiloh waved to Sam before she disappeared from sight.

Milo was just as confused. "Why did you an' Daddy fight, Uncle Sammy?"

"I-I'm not entirely sure, buddy," Sam answered honestly, setting the boy down on a chair. "Stay here for a moment, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because…" _Because I'm about to go talk to someone involved and I don't want you to hear any details of the gruesome death that just occurred so you won't be traumatized for life. _"Because I said so. If you don't move off this spot until I come back, I'll let you pick supper tonight, deal?"

"Okay!"

Perhaps in hindsight, the boy had agreed too easily, but at the moment it was good enough for Sam. He made his way over to where a young blonde woman sat with her face in her hands. She noticed him approaching and looked up.

"I uh, I just wanted to see if you were okay," he said softly.

She sniffled. "Not really, but thanks. She…" She gestured in the direction of the paramedics. "She was my sister."

"I'm so sorry."

The woman nodded and dabbed at her eyes. "It's her girls I'm worried about. First Mommy goes crazy, and now this…"

"Crazy?"

"She's done pageants with them for a while but this time… this time was different." Using the damp tissue in her hands, she wiped at her eyes again. "She was so hard on them, I'd never seen her get like that before… and now that's how they'll remember her."

This was just helping to confirm what he'd already suspected. "I know this might seem like an odd question, but just hear me out; have you noticed any cold spots or weird smells?"

She looked at him like _he_ was odd. "It's an old building that's now overrun with toddlers."

"Fair enough. Humor me."

She looked lost for words, but shrugged. "It's been drafty, I suppose."

He caught her eyes wandering past him, and focusing on something across the room. "Something wrong?"

"That boy, I met him earlier, but I don't see his father anywhere."

Sam turned just enough to see his nephew looking very glum but equally determined not to move from his spot the slightest bit. "That's my nephew, Milo."

"That's right, Dean mentioned he had a brother." She was quiet before nodding to herself. "I should get back to my nieces. They need to go home to their father."

"Yeah, that's probably for the best."

On his way to reclaim his nephew, one of the women he recognized as one of the volunteers flagged him down with a neon yellow piece of paper. "Have you gotten a memo about tomorrow's events?"

"Uh, no, thank you," he said as she thrust the paper into his hands. The note at the bottom of the page caught his eye. "Miss, what's this about the pageant being in memory of Shawn and Natasha?"

"This year marks the twentieth year since their passing," she explained. "They were quite big supporters of this pageant back then. Their daughter Natalie is one of the judges this year." She lowered her voice. "Between you and me… how else do you think she got the job?"

Sam smiled and nodded, and continued on back to his nephew.

Now, he had a place to start.


	8. Still Hate Their Names

"It looks cooler if you turn it right after you pull it out."

The three year old girl fumbled with her hands to try and grip the gun properly. She could hold it, but when she tried to turn it quickly as she had watched her father doing… that didn't work so well. After trying again, she looked up at her father for approval.

Dean frowned. "It uh… it needs work. Try it again."

"Why?"

Before he could answer, the door opened. Sam kicked it open wider with his foot, carrying a drink tray and take out bag while Milo somehow managed to carry a bag as well.

"Hey, we picked up dinner!"

Dean waved him off. "In a bit."

This wasn't agreeable with his daughter. "Daddy! Now!"

"Don't whine, Shiloh. Now come on, let's get this right," he clapped his hands together eagerly.

She crossed her arms. "Don't want to."

"Shiloh, come on."

"No!"

Sam set the contents of his arms down on the table and looked over at the scene. When he realized what was going on, he sighed. Could this day get any more bizarre?

"Shiloh, come eat with Milo," he waved her over before glaring at his brother. "And can I have that? You can't have it at the table anyways." This was perfectly fine with her. She handed the gun in her hands over to her Uncle before clambering up on the chairs at the table. Sam looked at it a moment before gesturing to the other side of the room. "Dean, a word?"

He made sure the twins were out of earshot before opening the chamber of the gun.

"Of course it's not loaded, Sam! What kind of father do you think I am?" Dean spat, keeping his voice lowered.

Normally, a great one. "I'm not so sure. What's gotten into you?" Sam countered.

"What're you talking about? I just want to see Shiloh win."

That was _exactly_ it. "Since when do you call her _Shiloh?"_

Dean shrugged. "That's her _name_, Sam."

"Yeah, and you _hate _it! You always use nicknames!" He wasn't even sure he could think of an instance where Dean had _ever_ used their names. "Now something is going on, and it's starting to affect them, so it has to stop."

The elder shook his head. "I don't need this," he announced, grabbing his coat off the couch and storming out of the motel room. His EMF tumbled from his pocket as he walked, and all lights were lit.

The door slammed, and both sets of eyes looked at their Uncle from the table.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>Later on, when both were tucked into bed and sleeping peacefully, the door opened. Sam looked up from his laptop to see his brother stumble in.<p>

"Hey, you're back." Sam greeted him softly. After a moment of watching him, the younger realized something. "Are you drunk?"

"Sort of. Yeah." He shut the door quietly and looked at the bed where his children slept. "It's funny," Dean half laughed to himself, leaning against the door. "After three years, an' I still hate their names." He pointed to his daughter. "If I'd had my way, she'd be Mary Joanna Winchester. Or maybe just Mary Jo. Milo… Hell, I don't know."

Sam chuckled. "Bobby John?"

Dean grinned and nodded, recalling their brief time with the infant shapeshifter. "Maybe. But no, she had to have her way." His voice cracked at the mention of the twin's mother.

"You know her death wasn't your fault, right?"

Dean nodded again. "I know. She made a stupid mistake, and it cost her." There was still guilt in his brother's voice, as Sam had suspected. "Only it cost them too, and it's not fair. If I'd been there, maybe I could have saved her, but I wasn't." He took a drink from the bottle in his hand.

"You were at home with them. She told you she was going to see her sister," Sam reminded him. "You couldn't have known."

In typical Dean fashion, he altered the subject. The grin tugging at his mouth meant he was recalling something fondly. "Remember when they were born?"

"When we were driving for our lives and we had to call Cas to get her to a hospital, and all her protests about how all hospitals are evil?" Sam laughed. "Yeah, not going to ever forget that night."

"I mean seeing them. First time. Cas, that bastard; he'd known the _entire time. _Hell, he probably knew they existed long before the three days or so warning that we had."

Sam chuckled softly and ran a hand through his hair. "In his defense, once we did know, you did tell him that you didn't want to know anything about the baby."

"Yeah, if it was a boy or girl! Twins are something you want to give someone a heads up on!"

"Cas didn't know that."

Cas didn't know a lot of things, but he had ensured that the twins were brought into the world healthy, so Dean could forgive him for that. He looked back at his brother and his voice quivered. "Something's wrong, Sammy. With me. Ghost or something, I'm not…"

"I know, I'm working on it," Sam assured him, taking the bottle from his hand and steering him towards the other bed. "Come on, you need to sleep this off. Big day with Shiloh tomorrow!"

Dean didn't argue, just lay back against the pillows. "Her routine's gotta be perfect."

"It will be."

When he was sure Dean had drifted off, Sam pulled out his cellphone and dialed.


	9. Let's Go Home

Sam leaned against the impala and resisted checking the time. She'd come. She said she would come. Why wouldn't she? A stranger calls you up out of the blue with possible information about why people were dying at the pageants and wants to meet, of course anyone would go.

Or call the police. But, there'd been no sign of any law enforcement in the half hour he'd been waiting, so he hoped he was in the clear. Not that he'd blame her if she had called the police. His story sounded crazy to _him,_ he couldn't imagine what it sounded like to a civilian.

And she hadn't even heard the worst of it yet.

He stiffened as a blue car pulled up beside him. A plain looking blonde woman was at the wheel, and he recognized her picture from the research he'd done on her as well as from seeing her earlier in the day.

"Sam?" She asked, stepping out of her car but not closing the door. Smart, easy to make a quick getaway. She'd parked a spot away from him and made sure the passenger side was between her and him. Perhaps she hadn't called the police, but she wasn't without precaution.

"Yeah, hi. Thanks for coming so late."

She laughed. "It's only a little after ten."

Was it? "Sorry, living with kids kind of skewers your sense of time."

Natalie nodded. "So I've been told. You said this was important?"

Here went nothing. "Yeah, it is." He swallowed. "Look, you're going to think I'm crazy, and that's fine, except I'm not crazy and we don't have a lot of time. I think my brother's in trouble, and he's the only parent my niece and nephew have left, so I need you to just trust me and answer truthfully."

She thought he was beyond crazy, it was written all over her face. "Okay. I think."

Okay? She'd agreed? Maybe she was crazy too. "Your parents died in a car crash, right?"

Natalie crossed her arms and leaned on her car. "Yeah."

"Did they get along while they were alive?"

The way her face fell into an unimpressed expression, he'd take it they didn't. "You're joking."

"Not in the slightest."

"My parents _hated_ each other. They'd use my little sister and compete to see who could win more with her. Hell, that's why they _died_ – they couldn't even stop arguing the ten minutes it took to drive to the hotel." She raised an eyebrow. "Anyone involved in the pageant world knows this."

He shrugged. "I'm new to it all. Look, I don't know how to say this, but I don't think they're gone."

"Sorry, you don't think my parents are _dead?"_

"No, I think they're dead, I just don't think they're gone." She was considering leaving, he could tell. "Just hear me out. _Please._" She looked back to him. "You've got to have noticed it; the cold spots, all the weird accidents. They only started once you started as a judge. You…" Sam studied her expression. "You don't think I'm crazy."

Her fingers clutched at the necklace around her neck. "Sometimes, just before an accident… sometimes I think I can smell my mother's perfume. I thought it was just repressed trauma or something."

This was progress. "No, it's real, it's very real. I think she and your father are still around, and they're using live people and their children to compete."

She nodded to herself. "Say I believe you – because knowing them, death wouldn't stop them. How do _we_ stop them? If you're counting on me to talk to them, you're in for a surprise. They didn't listen to me while they were alive, you really think they're going to start now?"

"Buried or cremated?"

"Cremated."

_Damn._ "Um okay, do you keep something of theirs around?"

Natalie tugged on her necklace. "It was my mom's. She was probably wearing it the night of the crash." She lifted it off her head and slid it over the roof of her car to Sam. "A police officer gave it to me during the funeral."

_Perfect._ He took the gold chain in his hands and studied it. There were specks in the links, it could have very well been blood. He took a lighter from his pocket. Here went nothing…

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Sam turned to see Dean standing behind him, smirking.

"Dean?"

"Not at the moment, sorry darling, but I do have access to his mind so I know what you're planning. It won't work; I wasn't wearing it, and it held no value to me."

So it was Natasha, Natalie's mother. Dean would be mortified when this was over. Sam held the flame closer to the chain. "So you won't mind if I torch it anyways, just to be safe?"

"I'll mind that you ruined an expensive necklace for no reason." Dean tilted his head and smiled thinly at Natalie. "Hello dear… you grew up rather plain, didn't you?"

Natalie paled. "Mom?"

"She did grow up plain, I'll give you that." Another person joined them, looking bored with the whole evening. The new blonde woman sighed heavily. "Not that I had much hope for her then."

"Dad?"

"Okay, this just became officially creepy," Sam decided.

"Hush child, the adults are talking," Dean snapped at Sam before turning attention to Judy. "Another woman I see, Shawn. Another _blonde._ And the sister of your last one. Even dead, you're still a pig."

"I wouldn't have had to take the sister if you hadn't killed my last one, Natasha. And you didn't exactly choose the last one available."

Dean smiled and tilted his head. "Yes, this one has lovely eyes, doesn't he? Lovely eyes that his _daughter_ inherited. Horrid makeup job or not, they're prize worthy."

"This one's niece is sure to win, Natasha, and you know it."

"Please. Shiloh has the crown."

"She's far too pudgy."

"Right… that's why she was your first pick, right? Oh yes, I knew. Why else do you think I chose her?"

Sam knelt beside the necklace and chanted the spell ingrained into his mind and prayed to anyone who would listen that this would work.

Natalie looked in horror at the people inhabited by her parents. "I don't believe this. How many people have to die before you two are happy? Isn't it bad enough that you killed yourselves? That you killed _Nancy?_"

Both scoffed. "Don't be so overdramatic. Her pageant days were numbered anyways."

"We chose not to pass on," Judy continued. "All we have to do is bounce from one body to the next, and we can continue for the rest of eternity."

"We did your sister a favour," Dean agreed. "She'll be a queen for the rest of eternity."

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked. "Why don't you ask her?"

The parents looked down. Shiloh stood before them, bleary eyed and hair a mess. Except it wasn't truly Shiloh. "Are you two done fighting?" She walked to them and grabbed their hands. "Let's go home."


End file.
